weapons of the god are so unique.’ She was trembling, excitement high in her and
her heart racing with the thrill of danger faced and killing accomplished, and
she stroked the bracelet as if it were a lover.
She went home with her head high in pride and continuing excitement, and she was
not at all happy when her husband railed at her for being so late and seized her
by the left wrist. He went all bright eyed and stiff and fell down dead. She was
not at all happy. She had intended to kill only strangers for the thrill of it,
those who deserved it. Somewhere, surely, the god Vashanka smiled.
‘The god-damned city’s in a mess and busy as a kicked anthill and I think you
had more than a whit to do with it,’ the dark young man said. (Or was he a
youth? Street-wise and tough and hooded of eyes and wearing knives as a
courtesan wore gems. Hair blacker than black and eyes nearly so above a nose
almost meant for a bird of prey.)
‘ “God-damned” city, indeed,’ said the paler, discomfitingly tall man, who was
older but not old, and he came close to smiling. ‘You don’t know how near you
are to truth, Shadowspawn.’
Around them in the charcoal dimness others neither heard nor were overheard. In
this place, the trick was not to be overheard. The trick was to talk under
everyone else. A bad tavern with a bad reputation in a bad area of a nothing
town, the tavern called the Vulgar Unicorn was an astonishingly quiet place.
‘Just call me Hanse and stop being all cryptic and fatherly,’ the dark young man
said. ‘I’m not looking for a father. I had one – I’m told. Then I had Cudget